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ISAIAH 1:11

Does Jesus

want animals'

crucifixion

because of

His resurrection?

-saiom shriver-

 

Footnote:

Isaiah 1:11 King James version

To what purpose is the multitude of your sacrifices unto me? saith the Lord: I am full of the burnt offerings of rams, and the fat of fed beasts; and I delight not in the blood of bullocks, or of lambs, or of he goats.

 

rarescene.blogspot.com

IMMORTAL LIGHT

Despite being
involved
in 1000 insurrections
light itself

cannot be killed.

It needs
no resurrection

-saiom shriver-

*

Footnote:

the poem Freefall by Susanne Donoghue my muse

http://allpoetry-classic.com/poem/11632467-Freefall-by-Susanne_Donoghue

http://weatherpictureoftheday.files.wordpress.com/2008/07/05-31-03.jpg

autumn, beauty, clarity, fall, light, Metamorphosis, poem, poetry, resurrection, seasons, spring, summer, winter Edit

 ■■■■■

And they wanted to heal,

But the requests were riddled 

In disguises,

With delusions of grandeur,

And hopes of great riches and fantasies,

And so the healer likened the journey to the deep sea diver,

Who falls into the water with arms opened wide,

And forges his way to the depths of the ocean,

Deeper, and deeper,

He passes the wreckage of lost ships, and human waste

Of days past,

And at times must close his eyes to the remembrance

Of pain too haunting,

Because he knows the journey to reach his "treasure",

his "core",

Is a merciless path.

■■■■■

And when he reaches the ocean floor, 

He does not stop,

Because he knows what lies beneath is what he must face,

And so he begins to use the tools he learned,

And finally, after chipping away for months and years,

he uncovers

The worth of his soul,

With great joy, he retrieves the lost and precious gems

Of his existence,

And he begins his hopeful journey to the surface,

But his suffering does not end,

Because the road up, 

Even more wrought with turmoil as he endures

The caustic resentment

From those with no knowledge,

And he is made to relive the loss of his soul treasure 

Over and over,

Time and again the relentless visions of pain and torment,

That satiate the hunger of blindfolded eyes and sullen, hopeless spirits,

Hungry for the taste of their own lost piece of life,

Lost in their lust for material gain.

¤

They cannot see his treasure is within,

The lack of "sight" for the divinity of his excavation

Into the "earth" within himself,

A common ignorance of human existence,

To be unaware of what one sees as 

"Separate",

"Derilict",

"Different",

"Ungodly".

And his plight becomes even worse than he could have ever imagined.

■■■■■■

But when he reaches the surface of the water,

This vortex of pure love for all humanity,

Created by and through his own wounds,

Lifts him over the water,

And only then 

He revels in the love meant for him from the beginning.

The hard work that could only be done by him.

No pill,

No man,

Woman,

Dollar amount,

Could have created it.

So you say you would like to heal?

■■■■■■

.....

There were a lot of so called "preppers" before things fell apart. Clogging up the radio and tv waves, talking like they had it in control, like they knew what was coming, but it all was rubbish...they were just publicity whores, trying to make a quick buck by selling their books and being on tv...when the world faced its own end, no one was truly prepared. The few of us who survived were just lucky.

Out on the rays of a misty morning sun, his hardened gaze vanished into the the horizon;
fading into the void of a dark new day, like the eagle finding freedom from horrors of death and the grasp of the hungry worm. On his brown, weathered face, the agony of many deaths
left their scars, as each deep line coursed through his skin like a trench carrying many sorrows to their grave. Whatever memories remained, remained locked somewhere inside his mind, somewhere safe from the savage death that took his world; that ripped it from his arms. Now in this strange new land, he would walk alone, as three fresh graves at his feet, would he leave behind; only a battered old shovel standing in the moist dirt, would stand watch over them. With a sack over his shoulder, and a shotgun in his arms, he disappeared into the unknown.

Day and night, the fires raged; reaching toward a silent heaven, thrashing in anger against an infected sky as the cold, nameless bodies of the damned were consumed en masse . With each corpse burned in the hungry flame, those few survivors felt one minute safer; one moment protected from the death, they could only hold off; the fate shared with those they destroyed for the second time. No end exists for the thing that stalks the human soul. The second death infects everyone.

Though I walk the land given to the dead,
and stand among the lost and the forgotten,
I will not fear death, for I carry with me, the promise of a better resurrection.
I will not fear the stalking plague that seeks to devour my soul,
as in my heart, the hope for a better tomorrow still lives on.
My God and my faith will be with me forever.